


These Fictions Only Prove How Much You've Really Got to Lose

by lynnearlington



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-21
Updated: 2011-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-23 22:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnearlington/pseuds/lynnearlington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 3.01 fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Fictions Only Prove How Much You've Really Got to Lose

Santana’s gotten considerably better at not breaking out the waterworks in public, but there’s really only so much she can take in a day. She walks out of glee club without too much protest because she has dignity, and she’s not giving these people any more of herself than she already has.

It takes strength she didn’t know she had not to glance back at Brittany as she leaves, not to send her a pleading look. Her head might be chanting at her to keep walking forward, but her heart is yelling _why aren’t you coming with me_ in the direction of her best friend.

She even manages to make it all the way out of the school building towards the parking lot before she lets out the deep pained breath she’d been holding in her chest. Tears aren’t far behind. It’s not until she’s nearing her car that she realizes she left her bag, car keys in the left pocket, in the school.

Rolling her eyes, she turns back, eyes trained to the ground, heart heavy and tight in her chest when she practically runs into Quinn.

She pulls back just in time, her eyes whipping up to stare into the dark lenses of Quinn’s sunglasses.

“Shouldn’t you be in _glee_?” Quinn asks snottily, one hand gripping the dark strap of her bag at her shoulder.

Santana exhales heavily through her nose, and glances away for a second. Another deep breath and she almost remembers who she’s supposed to be again. “Shouldn’t you be with your little band of misfits?”

An eyebrow arches, and Quinn’s lip purse like she wants to laugh. “No need to get bitchy about it. Your cheer minions aren’t here to hear you.”

“Whatever,” Santana deadpans, moving around Quinn.

Three steps later, Quinn’s voice stops her, the attitude suddenly absent. “Did you mean what you said?”

It takes a second for Santana to register the words, to realize Quinn’s talking to her like a normal person again and not this weird mutant version Quinn’s been trying out the last few days. It takes just a beat longer for Santana to register the way Quinn’s voice shakes a little, and Santana’s eyes widen a little in wonderment.

It must be that they’re alone, or that it’s part of some secret joke Quinn’s about to play, but as she turns to look over her shoulder questioningly and sees Quinn’s face, she thinks maybe it’s because Quinn’s tired. They’re _both_ tired.

“Did I mean what?”

Quinn’s jaw does that thing it’s always done when she’s holding something back, and Santana kind of hates that she knows these things about Quinn, a lingering reminder of what her life was like three years ago. “The besties for life thing,” Quinn finally lets out, her voice barely audible.

It tightens Santana’s gut. The pain from earlier ‘s not nearly old enough for her to deal with this again. “Look,” she says sharply, turning to fully face Quinn. “I already gave you my speech about this. We’re both after the same thing and if you’re too dumb to realize we work better together than apart then that’s your problem. You’re the one wasting your senior year smelling like a dumpster and hanging out with the school trash. I’m done fixing everyone’s problems, and I’m sure as hell done dealing with everyone’s bullshit identity problems.”

Something flashes across Quinn’s face, and Santana can see her spine straightening, shoulders pulling up. For a second, Santana thinks she’s staring at the old Quinn, but it passes as soon as her eyes take in the fugly pink hair again.

“Since when have you fixed anyone’s problems but your own?”

Shaking her head, Santana feels all her pain boil into anger, and she just needs to get her keys, get into her car, and get home. There’s four hours of _Friends_ reruns on her DVR and a pint of non-Cheerio-regulation ice cream in her fridge just dying to hang out with her. “I seriously do not have time for this.”

She gets another few steps before Quinn stops her again, this time with a hand around Santana’s bicep, pulling her to a halt. “Wait,” Quinn’s voice says, all low and curious. “Why _aren’t_ you in glee? Did you ditch?”

Pulling her arm out of Quinn’s grasp, she scowls at her. “What’s it to you?”

“Why are you avoiding the question?”

“I’m _going_ to glee right now,” Santana lies.

“You were leaving. I watched you walk straight across the parking lot. Did you quit glee?”

It’s an out Santana’s all too willing to take. “Totally,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest, and lifting her chin up. “I need to focus on leading the Cheerios to a national championship this year.”

Head tilted to the side a little, Quinn’s eyes flicker over Santana’s shoulder to an empty space Santana’s been aware of for months. “Where’s Brittany?”

“I don’t know,” Santana says, shaking her head, brow furrowed. “I’m not her keeper.”

It’s apparently hilarious to Quinn because loud disbelieving laughter leaves her mouth. “Yes you are.”

“Whatever. She wanted to stay, so she stayed. Her loss.” Santana’s practically a professional liar at this point, but for some reason she can see how much she’s _not_ fooling Quinn. It’s killing her that Brittany stayed glued to her seat, that Brittany watched Santana leave glee and didn’t even make a move toward her.

“They kicked you out,” Quinn breathes out with sudden realization. Pulling off her sunglasses, Quinn blinks surprised eyes at Santana. “After the stunt with the piano, they kicked you out.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Stop lying,” Quinn retorts quickly. “You’re a bad liar.”

“I’m a _fantastic_ liar,” Santana argues.

“I’m a better liar,” Quinn counters. “And you can’t lie to someone that does it as often as me.”

Jaw clenching, Santana swallows dryly, the uneasiness that’s been churning in her stomach nearly overwhelming her. “So they kicked me out, who cares? No way they win Nationals this year. They’re dragging me down and I didn’t like it in there anyway.”

Qunn laughs. “Again with the lies!”

“Shut up, Fabray. Look at yourself in the mirror. I’m not the joke here.”

“This is who I _am_ , Santana,” Quinn says darkly, her expression suddenly sobering.

Losing all restraint on her anger, Santana takes a step back towards Quinn, fists clenched. “Oh please,” she says lowly. “Do you think you’re a badass or something? I’m from Lima _Heights_ and I know a poser when I see one. I’ve known you for a long time, do you really think you’re fooling me with this?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Santana.”

“Acting like you don’t care doesn’t make it go away,” Santana says firmly, heart suddenly pounding. “Trust me, I would know.”

Swallowing visibly, Quinn deflates a little, looks into Santana’s eyes for a long moment. “I’m sorry Brittany didn’t follow you out here. You forget her leash today?”

Heat spikes behind her eyes. “Go to Hell, Fabray.”

“We’re already living there and you know it,” Quinn jokes, lip quirked up at the corner.

It pulls the anger out of Santana a little, and she’s able to laugh. The distant sound of the door slamming opening stops the next few words she’s about to say, and her head is pulled towards the voices exiting the school and heading right towards them.

Brittany’s got her armed looped through Tina’s as they laugh about something, and Santana can’t decide if she’s devastated or pissed. No denying that the way her stomach flips over is all about jealousy, an emotion she’s uncomfortably familiar with when it comes to Brittany.

Then Brittany’s eyes pull up to meet Santana’s across the parking lot, her steps faltering only slightly as they look at each other and Santana’s heart does that stupid thing it always does when she sees Brittany. Santana swallows, can’t really make out Brittany’s expression from this distance, and wonders if it’s as forlorn as Santana feels. She decides quickly that she probably doesn’t really want to know, couldn’t stand to find out how _unaffected_ Brittany probably is.

“My mom works until 8 these days,” Quinn says in a hurried whisper from behind her.

“I left my keys in my locker,” Santana says, ripping her gaze from Brittany’s.

“I could use some fresh air,” Quinn replies and just like they’ve done countless times, threads her arm around Santana’s and pulls them in the opposite direction of school. “Let’s walk.”

\--

“What would the skanks think about this?” Santana jokes, eyes taking in the clear blue sky above the Fabray backyard.

“You mean you and I hanging out again?”

Santana hums affirmatively as she picks a few blades of glass in her left hand.

Quinn laughs, sips at a bottle of root beer and shrugs from her position against the thick trunk of a tree. “I own those girls as much as I owned the Cheerios. They think what I tell them to think.”

Santana laughs. “I suppose the world wouldn’t turn if Quinn Fabray wasn’t leading _someone_ around.”

“So,” Quinn draws out, kicking Santana’s in the arm lightly. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“What, are we friends again or something?”

“I’m just saying you can talk about it. Think of it like a temporary cease fire.”

Santana watches the clouds move slowly in the sky and affects an innocent tone. “Talk about what?”

“Getting kicked out of glee,” Quinn says softly. “The Brittany thing.”

“I got kicked out of glee because Schue’s a moron and I don’t need to talk about it because I don’t care. And I’ll talk about _the Brittany thing_ whenever you wanna talk about the psychotic breakdown you’re having.”

“Fine.” Rummaging in the bag next to her, Quinn pulls out a soft pack of cigarettes and fumbles a white stick out.

“Ugh,” Santana scoffs, rolling her eyes. “There’s no one around, and no fires need starting. Put that thing away.”

“Says the girl that spends summers stealing cheap cigars to smoke at QwikStop.”

“If you light that thing I will seriously leave.”

Silent for a moment, Quinn seems to consider it before flicking the cigarette towards Santana’s head.

“Bitch,” Santana utters over a soft chuckle, moving just quick enough to swat the cigarette away before it hit her in the eye.

“Speaking of fires, I know I said it before, but you really are an idiot for joining back up with Sue.”

“As if you’re anyone to talk about idiotic choices.”

“Santana, we both know where that path leads...”

“That path leads to a national championship and a cheerleading scholarship so I can get the hell out of here.”

“We spent months getting out from under her thumb, and you’re just throwing it all away, going right back there, taking Brittany down with you?”

Santana sits up swiftly, glowering at Quinn. “You have no right to talk about any of this to me. We could be ruling that team right now, it could have been like it used to be, and instead you’re spending your afternoons ditching calc and chainsmoking under the bleachers. If anyone’s throwing anything away it’s _you_.”

“She’s poison, Santana,” Quinn continues, undeterred by Santana’s words. “What are you doing?”

“What I _have_ to do. You know better than anyone what status means at this school.”

“So we’re back to this? We’re back to sophomore year, glee club or Cheerios? Really?”

“Just relieving the greatest hits,” Santana retorts, giving it her best bitch smile.

“Look I helped you burn that purple piano because it was ugly and I was bored, and pissed, and that’s all fine and good, but you can’t go back. You can’t go back to being Sue’s soldier.”

“Shut up, Quinn.”

“I’m serious. You need to quit it before you get in too deep.”

Gripping her fingers viciously against the grass under them, Santana resists the urge to lash out at Quinn. The memory of her palm hitting the side of Quinn’s face lingers in her left fist. “You’re not there anymore, Quinn. So stop acting like you _know_.”

Quinn must see the threat in Santana’s eyes, must sense that she’s seconds from snapping because she leans her head back against the tree and observes the sky again. Silence dropping heavily between them.

Santana snaps her gaze away and forces her hands to loosen. This was a bad idea. They can’t go back to what it used to be now, and it hurts just to sit here and realize it.

“You know,” Quinn says suddenly. “Rachel came to see me the other day. To ask me to come back to glee or whatever.”

Laughing sharply, Santana turns amused eyes towards her friend. “Oh my God tell me everything that is _hilarious_.”

“It was...” Quinn pauses, eyes trained upward for a moment more before turning toward Santana. “You know....it was kind of...I don’t know?”

“You don’t know,” Santana deadpans. “Rachel Berry came to beg you to come back to glee club and it was... _you don’t know_?”

Quinn’s face is stoic, a perfect frozen expression that Santana’s seen her hold in a slew of emotional situations. “For a second there,” Quinn croaks out, her voice betraying her face, “She had me believing her. She’s going on this big speech about how the club needs me and how we’re a family, and yadda yadda and for a second there I started to believe her.”

It was unlike Quinn to be this forthcoming with her feelings, to sound so suddenly honest about her emotions. Quinn bottles everything up with the best of them, and Santana’s always admired it about her. Now, to hear vulnerability in Quinn’s voice over _Rachel Berry_...

Brow furrowed, Santana shakes her head slowly in confusion. “So?”

“You said it yourself,” Quinn sighs. “It’s our senior year.”

“Yeah,” Santana breathes out. “Our senior year.”

“I wish we were graduating tomorrow,” Quinn says lightly, smiling.

Santana smiles back at her, the expression soft on her face. “Me too, Q. Me too.”

“You wanna order pizza with ten toppings and watch dumb movies like we used to? I know you’re back on the Cheerios diet, but...”

“Definitely,” Santana answers firmly. They’re not fixed, nothing is that much different, but Quinn’s smiling, and Santana feels suddenly desperate for any memory of the way it all used to be. “Sounds awesome.”

\--

Later, when they’re stuffed with pizza, and the credits to some terrible Lifetime movie rolls on the screen, Quinn turns to Santana. “I really _am_ sorry about Brittany, you know?”

“Don’t,” Santana warns, not looking over.

“We’ve know each other for a long time, Santana,” Quinn says, parroting Santana’s words from earlier. “And I’m _sorry_ about Brittany.”

Swallowing thickly, Santana finally turns to find kind eyes turned her direction, ruined only by the slash of ridiculously pink hair cutting across Quinn’s forehead. “I know,” Santana says with a sad smile. “Thanks.”

“She’ll come around eventually.”

“I’m really done caring if she does.”

“Yeah, sure, and I’m done caring what people think about me,” Quinn deadpans.

The sound of the door slamming breaks up the moment, and as Mrs. Fabray makes her way into the house, Santana makes her way out.

Quinn walks with her towards the door, lingers just outside it as Santana walks out. “Are you gonna be okay walking home?”

Santana rolls her eyes, smirks self assuredly. “Girl I’m from _Lima Heights_ , remember?”

Quinn shakes her head, but looks amused. “How could I forget?”

“I’ll be fine,” Santana says, “But it’s cute that you’re pretending to care.”

Quinn’s expression sobers suddenly. “I can’t....I can’t promise it will be different tomorrow. At school, I mean.”

It takes a second for Santana to figure out what she’s saying. “Are you under some impression that sharing a pizza would somehow restore order to the universe? I’m still a bitch, you’re still a moron that can’t dress herself...the world turns.”

A moment passes before Quinn smiles sadly. “Goodnight, Santana.”

Santana makes her way down the front walk of the Fabray home. “Night,” she tosses over her shoulder, not trusting herself to turn around again.

\--

When Santana gets home it’s to an unsurprisingly empty house. Her mother is away on business, and it’s not uncommon for her father to spend the night at the hospital. There’ll be some premade meals in the fridge, and a note from her mother somewhere in the kitchen, but she doesn’t even head that direction. Instead, she trudges her way up the stairs even as exhaustion starts to make the living room couch on the first floor seem really appealing.

Alertness shoots through her system, however, as soon as she pushes the door to her bedroom open and nearly screams at the familiar form on her bed.

“Brittany!” Santana gasps out, flicking the light on and holding a hand to her chest. Her heart beats rapidly against her palm, as Brittany sits up slowly in bed, rubbing sleep out of her eyes.

“You’re home,” she croaks, her voice sleep warm and rough in a way that curls up against Santana.

“You’re in my bed.”

“Where have you been?” More awake by the second, Brittany pushes the covers off of herself and sits on the edge of the bed.

“Quinn’s,” Santana answers without thinking. “Britt, what are you doing here?”

“I came after glee,” Brittany answers, looking up at Santana with an earnest expression.

“You’ve been here _all_ afternoon?”

Brittany shrugs like she hasn’t been sitting in an empty house for hours. “You weren’t here. So I waited.”

It shouldn’t make Santana inhale as sharply as she does, but there’s something about the way the words sound that affects Santana. “ _Why_?”

Brittany looks at her with worried eyes, and a year ago the expression would have her striding quickly across the room, putting warm hands on Brittany’s cheeks and kissing reassurance back into her face. Now though with all that’s happened between them, Santana stays planted on the other side of the room near her door, unsure of herself.

“Are you going to make me choose Cheerios over glee again?”

“What?”

“Mr. Schue kicked you out of glee.”

“Yeah,” Santana laughs brokenly. “I was there. Thanks for the recap.”

“Are you going to ask me to quit too?”

It pisses Santana off more than she’s felt all day, this white hot anger spiking through her body. She shouldn’t _have_ to ask Brittany to do anything. She shouldn’t have walked out of that room alone, she shouldn’t be frozen on the other side of the room from a girl she’s spent most of her life touching in some capacity.

“And why would I do that? If you want to stay in loserville without me that’s your choice.”

“It’s just that I like it, and Mike has this new dance he wants to try out next week, and I told Tina I’d help her and Mercedes with costumes and I just...”

“Just _shut up_ about it Brittany, okay? I don’t care what you do; just don’t talk about it.”

“I would leave if you asked me to,” Brittany continues.

“Well I’m not going to so just drop it.” She’s considerably grateful that comes out of her mouth instead of what she wants to say. _I shouldn’t have to ask._

“I’ll miss you,” Brittany says softly.

Santana snaps. “You should probably leave.”

“What, why?”

“Because you’re in glee club and my mission is to _destroy_ glee club. We’re on different teams now.”

Santana forces herself not to respond to the way Brittany’s face falls.

“But I’m on Cheerios still...”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m Sue’s now. Full time. And you’re...you’re Schue’s I guess...”

“Santana,” Brittany says softly, voice full of all the things Santana doesn’t want to want. “If I’m anyone’s anything...I’m yours. You _know_ that.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Santana says, throat full of unshed tears. “Don’t you say things like that to me.”

“Baby,” Brittany breathes out, voice a mere whisper.

“I’m serious, Britt,” Santana says, holding up a finger to halt her. “Just...I get it, okay? Let’s just not talk about it.”

Silence drops over the room and Santana doesn’t know what to do with herself. Here’s this girl in her bed, hair all disheveled from sleep, and blue eyes staring far too knowingly at Santana, and she seriously has not idea what to do. It’s never been a problem before, but sometime between Santana’s poor choices last year, and Brittany’s terrible taste in boys uncertainty threaded its way between them.

“Are you going to come to bed?”

Her palms itch to be touching skin she knows will be warm and soft, and her heart that’s been so thrashed today wants nothing but to curl up against Brittany’s body. Her head is screaming at her to stay put, to tell Brittany to leave and not to give into a weakness that will make school that much harder tomorrow.

She wonders if someday Brittany will ask her that question and it won’t feel like this. If it won’t feel like her heart is constantly betraying her.

After just moments of warring with herself, her heart wins and she paces towards the bed, tugging at the zipper of her uniform top.

Brittany’s hands cover hers when she nears the bed. Her jaw clenches when Brittany stands, their bodies brushing together as Brittany slides Santana’s uniform off. The movements are nearly mechanical, but familiar in a way that settles warmth all over her.

If she looks up, she knows she’ll see blue eyes wrinkled with worry staring in her direction and pink lips that she’d give anything to kiss right now. It’s not until she’s in her underwear that she turns her head up, and if she thought she’d be able to resist _anything_ right now...

A beat and a breath later and Brittany’s got her lips against Santana’s, pressing into her firmly and wrapping strong arms over Santana’s shoulders.

A _stop_ command is on the tip of her tongue, but Brittany keeps their mouths together, runs her own tongue over Santana’s lip, bites down softly, and rips the idea of stopping straight out of Santana.

This won’t lead to anywhere good, and certainly won’t lead to anywhere less emotionally intense than the rest of the day, but Santana craves the familiarity. She wants to stop seeing Quinn’s pink hair, hearing Schue kick her out of the choir room, and she’s desperate to stamp down the still lingering memories of everything she and Brittany went through last year.

Brittany’s back hits the mattress with a thud, Santana’s fingers gripping in already tangled hair as soon as her body follows. Brittany’s own hands are pulling Santana’s hair out of her high ponytail.

Everything goes fuzzy in Santana’s head, muscle memory taking over to guide Santana’s fingers over all the right spots on Brittany’s body, strip her out of her pajamas, and pull the most indecently lovely sounds out of the girl under her.

In the haze that follows, Santana smiles against the skin of Brittany’s neck and lets herself block out any sense of reality beyond the bedroom for a long moment. Against her ear, Santana can feel the curve of Brittany’s lips mimicking her expression, and she allows herself just once to hear the soft _I love you_ without feeling pain.

Brittany’s fingers burn across Santana’s skin, trace memory over Santana’s collarbone, her hips, the place on the small of her back that Brittany always digs her nails into as she comes.

It’s all together overwhelming, and it takes long moments for Santana to catch her breath when they’re done.

Lying in bed together, Brittany’s fingers intertwine with her own, her body curled up to Santana’s side, lips at Santana’s shoulder.

“I think if you just apologize to glee club you could come back.”

“Brittany, shut up,” Santana laughs out, too entrenched in the lassitude of her last orgasm to even put bite into the words.

“I’m just saying,” Brittany says, lips pressing kisses against the skin under them.

“Look,” Santana says, rolling over to look down into Brittany’s eyes. It’s probably the endorphins still shooting through her brain, but she feels like her old self again, constantly desperate to make sure Brittany’s alright. “It’s going to be okay.”

Brittany’s brow furrows. “I know that.”

Santana’s eyebrows shoot up a little in surprise. “Well then what are you worried about?”

Shrugging, Brittany’s fingers trail over the biceps holding Santana upright. “I’ll just miss you. Why wouldn’t I want you there?”

“We’ll see each at Cheerios practice, in class, at lunch, practically all day.”

“It’s not the same.”

“I know,” Santana says softly, looking away briefly. “I know.”

“Everything’s going to be okay, though,” Brittany replies.

“I just said that.”

“Yeah, but I actually believe it. Even if you stay on Cheerios and even if Quinn doesn’t take a shower, it will be okay. We’ll be okay.”

Santana swallows thickly, isn’t sure if she wants to really believe it. Quinn’s condemnations from earlier ring in the back of her head, and she sees all the hard choices she’s going to have to make laid before her.

“I love you, you know. I don’t know why you keep forgetting.”

Pressing her lips to Brittany’s softly, Santana smiles. “You just keep reminding me, okay?”

Brittany grins, kisses her again. “Not a problem.”

“I’m glad you decided to come over.”

“I thought you would be.”

Santana laughs. “You’re so smart.”

Winking, Brittany laughs along with her. “I know.”

Santana falls asleep pressed against Brittany’s body, long, pale arms wrapped around her back, and feels like she’s exactly where she wants to be for the first time in days.


End file.
